Newsies 2: Strike Back!
by QuestRunner
Summary: In a comedy sequel of epic proportions, Jack and Davey are forced to help Brooklyn's finest on a secret mission that even has Spot's birdies talking. Carry the banner with a cast of your favorite characters - Crutchy, Racetrack and Denton to name a few - while the boys take another strike to the streets! Watch out Manhattan - Cowboy and the newsies are back!


"Yeah, Davey's gonna be a stick in the mud and head home early," Jack drawled, purposely speaking loudly and catching the other newsies' attention. As if on cue, the whole lot of them snickered, ending with an obnoxious outburst from Racetrack. Even Les was joining in! David's face flushed and he huffed in exasperation, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling him away from a barstool before he could order. It had been a good selling day – a good selling week, in fact – and the newsies had been treating themselves at Tibby's regularly. Ever the sensible prude, David had convinced himself that eating out one time this week was one time too many; after all, his family was counting on his wages! With his father's arm still in a sling, his family was barely able to afford their outrageous rent. Sure, they could downsize and move to a dumpier place reminiscent of Kloppman's lodging house, but David wasn't about to lose their rocking awesome rooftop view or give up his momma's expensive home-cooked meals. Beef and pork were hard to come by and trying to stretch out a mouthwatering stew with all the fixings just didn't happen, no matter how much water you added to the broth.

"Les, we're leaving. We need to save our money." Seeing Les' pitiful expression, David knelt down and tried to explain their predicament. "You know how much we've been struggling, right? Sarah's embroidery and laundry business is doing awful and Dad doesn't have a union to protect him." Actually, David mused, if Sarah became a newsie, she'd probably sell a bunch of papes and make a lot of money since she was articulate and wouldn't dress in rags like most of the fellas. But that was ridiculous! Women couldn't sell papes! No, this hardship was David's alone to bear. "Besides, my education's not gonna come cheap, especially once I go to college. And you want your big brother to be smart and successful, right?"

Les' lip quivered and he looked pointedly at Jack. "But Cowboy's smart and successful and he's never gone to school." David rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the guffaws from his friends who had settled into their usual seats in the restaurant. "Les, no one said you needed to go back to school. I'm sure no one would care. But Mom and Dad have pinned their hopes and dreams on me, got it? And all I'm saying is that the nickel you'd spend today on a sandwich would be much better served towards my future!"

Jack slapped the tightwad across the back, nearly flinging David into Les' wooden sword. He threw a handful of coins onto the counter and snapped his fingers to the server.

"Get my friend here one of 'em chocolate milk shakes. Extra whipped cream. Heck, add the cherry."

"The cherry's an additional five cents," the server said as he sifted through the newsies' string of orders. Jack scooped a nickel back into his palm.

"No sweat. Just go heavy on the cream."

"But that's an extra ten cents." More coins slid from the counter into Jack's possession.

"That's fine. I'm sure Davey doesn't mind a rich, delicious, chocolate—"

"Chocolate is a quarter."

"Milk it is! I'll take a frosted glass." The server slid a mug across the table that Jack caught with ease. "Drink up, Davey. You'll need all your strength if you're gonna be a sourpuss all your life." David made a face.

"Don't you ever think about your future, Jack? And don't pull that Santa Fe line again! It's getting old real fast. I swear, if I have to hear about New Mexico one more time—"

To Jack's shock, the entire company gave a collective groan and nodded in agreement, quickly siding with his selling partner. It was the strike leader's turn to scoff.

"Hey, what's wrong with Santa Fe?"

"Well, it's kinda hard to take you seriously when you talk about brotherhood and loyalty one day, then plan to ditch us for some crummy desert town the next," Kid Blink replied, taking another hearty bite from his sandwich. He sighed inwardly and muttered darkly, "I should've followed my gut instinct and led the strike myself."

"Or how they make city out of clay and you only invited Crutchy to come along. Real fair, Cowboy," glowered Mush from his seat by the window. Jack threw up his hands in annoyance.

"Well, I'm not in Santa Fe, am I? I gave up my train ticket for you! I could've hitched a ride from Teddy, but I stayed here cuz I'm broke, homeless and too sexy to leave just when I'd made a name for myself and got my picture in the papes!" He nudged Davey who made a gurgling noise as he attempted to drink his milk. "I know Mr. Mouthpiece has my back and you too, right Les?" The little boy slashed his sword playfully in Jack's direction and the elder batted Les's cap in response.

He watched David slam the now empty mug on the table and steer his younger brother toward the door, muttering something about "getting to bed early" and "leaving before having to spit in his palm for the fifth time today." As much as the lanky sidekick sucked the fun out of…well…EVERYTHING…Jack couldn't help but feel that the Jacobs' were part of his family—the newsies family. And family didn't just get up and leave during a celebration! Not on Cowboy's watch!

"You're up, Crutch," he whispered to the curly haired boy, who gave him a wink in return.

"Hey, fellas, where are you going?" Crutchy implored. He sagged against his crutch as he hobbled toward the pair. David paused, the door already cracked open. "I thought you were gonna hang out with your newsies pals today. Aren't I your friend? Your best friend?" A pause. "Your brother?" There it was. The hurt, baby eyes. No one could say no to those little blues. Forgot his leg. The kid sold a fortune with his God given talent of making a crowd feel like pathetic, insensitive bugs. "Whaddaya say?"

"No. Bye." Davey scurried Les out the door, only to retrace his steps once Brooklyn's finest shoved him backward with a swing of his cane.

David fell heavily against a table, a bruise already forming on his chest from where Spot's stupid cane had impacted. Jack put his cowboy hat on and practically shoved Specs from a cushioned chair so Spot could sit in style. The Manhattan newsies silenced as the Brooklyn leader crossed the doorframe and surveyed them haughtily from underneath his cap. He spoke quietly, staring steadily with eyes that could pierce into the very depths of one's soul. "Chocolate milkshake. Hold the cream. And I'll have…two cherries."

"YOU HEARD THE KID, HOP TO IT!" Jack barked at the server, who scurried to accommodate this latest order. Jack threw money on the counter to cover the shake and did the customary spit handshake welcome. David, still fuming, launched himself impressively from the table and towards the door…no, towards freedom! Les was sure to have some bruises as well, since David kept tugging on his arm and forcing him to follow.

"Not so fast, Mouth," Spot replied, slurping loudly on his overpriced milkshake. "This concerns all of youse."

"Yeah, Davey, this is business. You've gotta stay," Jack quipped while forcing Boots to fork over more of his marbles to Spot. So much for Denton being the King of New York – Conlon was sure getting the royal treatment today.

Spot spoke again without turning, tapping his cane annoyingly against his chair leg. "I say…what Jack says…is what I say –"

"WHY DON'T YOU MAKE UP YOUR OWN OPINIONS FOR ONCE?!" David stated crossly, trying for the last time to squeeze at least his arm out the doorway before Snoddy and Snitch pulled him back roughly and stuffed him like a pretzel into a rickety wooden chair. Les had snuck off during all the fuss and ordered a sandwich, the sneaky little scab. David vowed he would personally make sure the kid didn't have dessert for the next couple days. That would teach him to dig into his brother's college fund!

"My birds have been whispering in my ear, Jack. Surely you've heard the rumors."

"Sure have. No doubt about it. Nothing gets past me." One look at Cowboy's face clearly showed their fearless leader had no idea what the Brooklyn newsie was talking about.

"Hey there, Cowboy, you gonna fill us in or what?" came Racetrack's scowl as he pulled a cigar from his pocket.

"You hiding something from us?" Newsie #3 demanded, then drifted into the background with the other nameless boys not popular enough to warrant screen time.

"Yeah, what's going on, Jack?" David asked coolly, trying to hide his smirk.

"HE'S PLOTTING AGAINST US!" Skittery shouted. True to his name, he shifted from one foot to the other. Spot raised an eyebrow.

"Someone shut Skitts up before he kills someone," Jack said. He tugged at the handkerchief tied around his neck. Thank the stars his deadbeat dad had taught him the finer things in life, like: not starving, making hand cut ransom notes and spinning brilliant lies.

"Youse boys sure get rattled easily. The strike was one thing, Jacky-boy. Us newsies had strength in numbers. I'm talking about something much more dangerous. What we're up against now…it's every man for himself. And I need to know you've gots a few good men to complete a mission of sorts for me." Spot settled back in his chair, clearly proud of his vague little speech. His icy stare cut through the crowd, causing the Manhattan boys to shrink back in fear. It didn't take a self-proclaimed genius like David to know no one wanted to volunteer for some fool errand for Brooklyn. Their newsboys had a reputation for playing hardcore background Irish music and jumping off piers into frigid water. Not cool.

David could see Jack was deep in thought, fiddling with his useless handkerchief. Of course Cowboy didn't want to put his boys in danger BUUUUUUUUUT Brooklyn had saved their hides when Pulitzer's thugs trapped them all in the distribution center. And he always knew the day would come when they would need to return the favor. David sat smugly, knowing that Les' presence would prevent him from being sucked into any of this nonsense. He just had to survive this ridiculous meeting and then he would literally be home free.

"Alright guys, any takers?" Jack asked searchingly, his eyes practically begging the others to answer his call. Newsie #3 puffed out his chest heroically, striding towards the front. "I will bravely endure whatever – "

"Who gave you permission to speak? Get back in line!" Jack stated crossly, causing the young boy to squeak in terror. "Let me say that again: any takers from our main cast?" Crutchy rose his crutch in the air, wobbling slightly without the extra support. "I'm with you, Jack."

"Good man, Crutch," Jack smiled, nodding towards his buddy.

Crutchy's victory was short lived as Spot gave a derisive snort.

"Uh, how about NO."

"I had to sit out half the storyline cuz I was stuck in some dumb refuge and couldn't even be part of the cool dance numbers and majority of the songs! I REFUSE to be written out of this one! JUST TRY AND STOP ME."

"Wouldn't be hard to do," Spot replied with a smirk. The newsies responded by giving the King of Brooklyn steely glares.

"LET'S KILL HIM!" Skittery cried and Jack was quick to shove him backward in his chair.

"Stuff it, Skitts," he scowled before rounding on Spot. "Lookie here, if we're gonna work together, you've gotta respect my mates, or it's no deal. Sure, Crutchy may cause a bunch of noise with his crutch and ruin any chance of secrecy, or take forever to get up a flight of stairs cuz he's too darn slow, but he's one of us. And he's coming." Brooklyn's finest rubbed his chin, musing Cowboy's offer over. And then, to David's absolute horror, Spot jerked a thumb in his direction.

"I'll agree to your terms if you agree to mine. The Mouth comes with us. We'll need his fancy-smancy words if we're gonna pull this heist off."

"DEAL!" Jack said a second before David had the chance to open his mouth and complain.

"Uh, I've decided I hate all of you and I don't want to be a newsie anymore," David quipped and tried to rise from his chair. He was once again blocked, this time by the entrance of Denton, who stumbled and sent his accompanying briefcase flying into the back of Spot's head. Whether this act was intentional or not was debated; Denton loved being King and wasn't fond of potential threats to his status, namely Brooklyn's rising star.

"C'mon boys! Something's going on at the distribution center! It looks like the Delanceys are right in the middle of it!" he cried, spinning around wildly to look at all of them, his flailing arm smacking Spot in the face.

"Hey, thanks but no thanks. We're having an important meeting and I just blew my dough and went deluxe on Spot's drink, so we're sitting pretty right here until we get done," Cowboy declared with a nod from the newsies surrounding him. David grabbed Denton's sleeve in desperation.

"DENTON! Take me with you, please!"

Spot nodded in approval, stoically remaining still in his chair even as two red marks began to form on his face from Denton's accidentally-but-not-really smacks. "Your boy's got brains as well as a mouth, Jack. What's shakin' down with the Delanceys might impact what we's got to do tonight. So I say…what Davey says…is what I say—"

"NOOOOO!" Davey whined, trying to use Denton as a human shield. "If you guys are all of sudden gonna traipse down to the distribution center, leave me here! All I want to do is the exact OPPOSITE of what you decide to—"

Poor David didn't get the chance to sputter another word before he was hauled off decidedly from his chair by Jack and Spot and dumped roughly in the sea of newsboys. The entire group moved as one out of the restaurant and into the street, effectively trapping David in their midst, despite his best efforts to get away. By the time they reached the distribution center, Davey had been jostled by numerous elbows, stepped on by Newsie #3, tripped by Crutchy's crutch and fallen into a puddle. He effectively looked like he had been beaten up, which really wasn't far from the truth. All the newsies stopped at once, gaping at the sight that greeted them at the entrance of the gate; well, all the newsies except for Davey, because how was he supposed to know when to stop in sync? It's not like he was telepathic! Davey stumbled forward, his wobbly legs almost pitching him into another muddy puddle.

"Nice work, Davey, way to take the lead," Jack said as David's stumble propelled him at the forefront of the group. The lanky boy muttered a reply but the strike leader waved his words aside and joined him, placing himself one step ahead. "I'll take the limelight from here. The cameras need to get a close up of my pretty face before we soaks some Delancey scum and I get strategically beat up which will only make me more attractive. You understand, right, Davey? Now enough stalling! Let's get 'em!" Cowboy opened the distribution gates with a flourish and rushed inside with a fuming David in tow. Only then did they see Morris and Oscar standing in front of a heap of tattered and discarded pieces of artwork. In one hand, Morris sported a shiny pair of brass knuckles. In the other, a lit match.

"Glad you could make it, Cowboy," Oscar leered. He made an exaggerated gesture toward the colorful drawings at their feet before crushing a charcoal one under his heel and kicking it toward the crowd. "Who would've thought that there was a secret little Picasso mucking around as a newsie?"

Boots scooped up the discolored paper and held it up to the light.

"It's a picture of a ggiirrrllllll! Did you draw this?" Jack ripped the paper from the boy's hands.

"Yeah? So what?"

"Then it must be Cowboy's GIRLFRIEND," Henry added with a grin. "Well? Who is she? The mayor's daughter? Is that where you were Saturday night?"

"What's her name?" Crutchy asked innocently. Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're going out with this chick and don't know her name?" Spot inquired, provoking an eyebrow raise. Jack huffed and fiddled with his neckerchief.

"It's not like that! It's complicated! She can have two names at any given time!" He grabbed David by the shoulders. "Do you have a sister or not? TELL ME!" David knocked his hands away, pushing the right hand off first.

"You have SPAT in that hand countless times today and I am NOT okay with that! But, to answer your question, I only have a sister when it's convenient for the storyline and, apparently, since Sarah isn't here, I guess that would answer your question, wouldn't it?"

"But Katherine isn't here either!" David shrugged.

"Hey, it's your love interest, not mine."

"You know what, all the readers need to know is that I only love one girl and her name tends to change from Sarah to Katherine sometimes."

"But you only ever drew a picture of Katherine."

"Fine. Then it's Katherine."

"But I DID mention Sarah's lame embroidery business earlier in the story…"

"Not helping Davey!"

"We don't care if her name is Cupcake Frosting! All that we care about is watching you burn! Starting with all your precious paintings you hid away on your special rooftop. Including the backdrops Medda loves so much," Morris smirked as he dropped the burning match onto Jack's masterpieces.

"That's gotta be the longest burning match I've ever seen," Denton interjected with another swing of his briefcase that connected with the back of Spot's knee. Spot's cry of pain was drowned by Cowboy's howl of anguish.

"NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The tension was nearly tangible as all those present watched the match fall all too slowly onto the heaping pile of highly flammable paper. In hindsight, the distribution center of a large newspaper company was probably the worst place to start a fire, but the Delancey brothers had clearly gone out of their way to steal from Medda – a tall order – so everyone kind of overlooked this detail. The newsies continued to watch in horrified fascination, until one of their own had the sense to actually DO something. No, not Jack – he was too busy lamenting over the loss of his pencil sketches and David was otherwise occupied – scouting out an opening for him and Les to escape. Spot, still grimacing in agony, managed to throw his half drunken milkshake in the air, simultaneously whipping out his slingshot and shooting a marble at the glass mug. He knew his aim was true when the Irish rock music started to play and the mug shattered, spilling its contents over the flaming match and distinguishing the small flame. A collective groan could be heard from the onlookers that actually WANTED to see a huge blaze, despite the King of Brooklyn's super cool feat.

Oscar recovered from his shock first and shot Spot a contemptuous glare. "Morris! Light another match! How many more we have left?"

Morris stared down at the box of matches he'd dug from his pocket and squinted in concentration. "Uh…one….two….."

Denton peered over Morris' shoulder in interest. "I'd say you have about twenty more matches left, boys. Plenty to have another go at that fire. Now, if this fire starts a chain reaction of massive proportions, I want the first scoop, got it?"

"DENTON GET YOUR BUTT BACK OVER HERE! YOU ONLY WRITE ABOUT THE STRIKE AND NOTHING ELSE!" Jack bellowed, his initial breakdown dissipating as he stepped back into the role of fearless leader. To Spot, he asked, "Could you do that again, Conlon? Stop the fire?"

Spot rolled his eyes, reattaching his slingshot to his belt. "Oh sure, Jackie-boy. I'll just run all the way back to Tibby's, get another overpriced milkshake, and come all the way back here just before another match starts a fire. Besides, I'm not wasting another marble on this _trash_."

"Yeah, you hear that, Delanceys? Brooklyn thinks you're TRASH!"

"Jack, I was talking about your paintings."

"WHATTTTTT?!"

Morris took the opportunity to try and strike another match, but Spot was already rushing towards him, cane at the ready. He stomped over Jack's mountain of artwork, much to Cowboy's alarm, and swung fiercely at the bully's figure. Davey squealed with delight. YAY! The newsies would start a fight and him and Les could slip away unnoticed…Les? LES? Davey cursed in fourteen different languages once he saw his stupid little brother follow in Spot's wake, waving around his equally stupid wooden sword.

"Not so fast, newsie dirtwads. We expected a fight which is why we gots ourselves some back up! Scabbers assemble!" Oscar whistled and ten unnamed scabbers rolled out from the shadows and into position next to the Delanceys.

"How can they be scabbers if the strike's over?" David blurted, then berated himself for becoming involved with Jack's newest crusade instead of finding an exit. The handsome leader pointed an accusing finger at the Delancey army.

"Because once a scabber, always a scabber! Never forget that, Davey."

"That literally goes against everything we stood for. Remember how we agreed not to fight each other at the rally? In fact, YOU were a scabber!" His words fell on deaf ears.

"So, you had to pay off some scabby scabs to fight your fights for you, eh, Delancey?" Jack scowled, drawing himself up to full height. He tried to come across as intimidating despite the fact that he said the words "scab" and "fight" twice in the same sentence.

"Okay, you boys know the rules," Denton said as he set up his camera and an accompanying desk housing a stack of paper and extra pens. "Just whale on each other until I get a good shot. And….FIGHT!"


End file.
